The Unstable Affliction
by Bamfbugboy
Summary: A companion piece to Ring of Fire, but can be read just by itself. What happens when the one you love suddenly begins to change before your very eyes? What happens when two worlds become so different that you can no longer coexist? Will you give in?
1. I am Forsaken

**_The Unstable Affliction_**

_"I am Forsaken."_

_**Author's Note:**__ Ring of Fire was intended to be a one-shot ultimately, but now it has developed into being not only a two-shot, but now a four-shot (subject to becoming longer)! _This is starting to become one caffeinated cup of coffee, I would say! _This piece can be read as a STAND ALONE. You do not need to read Ring of Fire for this piece, but it would help.  
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_This has developed out of my recent interest in Forsaken roleplay on my warlock's new home, Wyrmrest Accord. Prior to writing Ring of Fire, I knew only basics about the Forsaken in general, lore-wise. Now, after truly getting into the midst of things, I have really begun to analyze and understand the Forsaken as a people. Roleplaying a Forsaken warlock has been quite interesting, as well as a challenge. I am now writing this new piece, another one-shot-esque companion piece to Ring of Fire, in order to reconcile whatever fluffiness and discontinuity that existed with my previous Forsaken character, Theodore. _

_This will not be as fluffy and charming as perhaps my other two shots, so I apologize if it disappoints you in that sense. This will be continuing after my Ulduar arc, and a primary portion of this chapter starts in the time before the Argent Tournament. The next chapter will be more towards Cataclysm. The only difference is my characters will be more... changed. _

_And it is in Theodore's point of view, this time. To clarify some confusion, it starts in the present, the period between Wrath and Cataclysm, and then shifts to the past, then to the present again._

_Please, review if you can. Especially if you have any foresight on the Forsaken in general. I did a lot of research about the Forsaken when I was beginning to develop my warlock as a character, but any advice would be more than appreciated. Even a comment or two would be loved!  
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><p>Work. The daily grind. Get up, and continue what needs to be done. Shoo the maggots and flies away, brush the dust off of the body, and get going. No time to waste. No time to spend thinking about anything else. The only thing that matters is work. Work gives results. Work will accomplish what needs to be done. There is no time for rest otherwise. The rest can wait. Time is not a factor, but a servant that bends to our will. Time cannot control us. Time is a thing of the living. Time slips away from the living, though perhaps it does slip from us as well, through our boney talons on occasion. We are rotting, afterall. Perhaps. It is not likely that we will pass on as quickly as the fragile lives of the living. Work comes first, now. No time for rest.<p>

It is not easy being an engineer (or an evil mastermind), not with the bills and what not that accompany the expenses of being a loyal and eager servant of her majesty, the Dark Lady. There are cogs, there are wheels, there are whizzing whirlywigs, there are widgets, there is wiring, there are igniters, there are fuses, there are screws, there are bolts, there are washers, there are drivers, there are programs, there are schematics, there are plans, there are goggles, there are gloves, there is ore, there are bars, and finally, there is a mind that must always be attuned to what is going on, in order for success to come from such a complex practice. It takes years for the living to master bits and pieces of the science. And time is simply not on their side.

Not to mention, more importantly, the lack of attention and care that the living possess. With their lives hanging by a mere thread, with the many tasks that they value that spread so thin across their allotted time slots. When one only has so long to be alive, or perhaps less as a matter of fact, one attempts to accomplish everything that one desires for their own pathetic existence. The living are an abomination in themselves, sewn together by flimsy tubes, slabs of muscle, strings of bones, neurotic nerves, arteries - all of which can singularly collapse and cause a chain reaction of death and demise upon their fleshly bags of worthless filth. And their brains! To be ruled by futile desires, wishes, and aspirations.

I thought I had developed such...pitiful human qualities, a few years ago. From my own research in librams, tomes, and other resourceful books of knowledge in the libraries within the Undercity, I discovered what had happened to me. The holy Light possesses a quality, a petulant quality at that, that our priests realized quickly during their beginning years, and were still continuing their practice in the Light's disciplines. Although the use of the holy Light upon Forsaken is extremely dangerous, and ultimately self-destructive, it has been recorded that the sole use of the Light does have some redeeming effects. Forsaken who have indeed used or have been touched by the Light's healing, both psychologically and physically, have experienced a more humanly change. These Forsaken report that the emptiness that at one time consisted of everything they ever understood or knew, was beginning to be refilled by emotion and feeling. These Forsaken reported, according to many books I have looked upon, that they were able to experience emotions such as faint bursts of "happiness." For awhile, I denoted by humanly behavior as to being exposed to those around me. After all, the Cult of Forgotten Shadow did exalt the notion of "divine humanism: that by using your power, you can change those around you and change the universe." But power. The definition of power varies amongst individuals, but perhaps this kind of power, and it's connotative definition are determined by the individual with such power.

Perhaps over the years serving my guild, and ultimately the Dark Lady, and throughout my years being tended to by priests of all races of the Horde, I was touched and repeatedly scorned by the Light. Perhaps I was poisoned by it, both literally and metaphorically. Not only did the Light burn so poignantly, it also managed to curse me with feelings that are more suited for that of the living. Perhaps it was this poison that ruined me for a long time. Perhaps I not only hurt myself, but also those I somehow managed to have miniscule sensations for, of what is known as happiness or frivolousness. Perhaps I lived in a distorted, false reality. Ultimately, whatever the cause, when I was detached from the source of this sensation, the priests who tended to my wounds (or rather, created new ones), I resorted back to my old ways, as if I had been freshly raised from the grave, with little to motivate my ravaged and despicable bones and flesh besides my unrelenting and unshakeable faith in my people, as well as our leader.

**ζ**

We were never married, Tessandra and I.

Perhaps it was for the best.

She simply would never be able to understand.

**ζ**

Perhaps I had noticed it from the very beginning of our relationship, unfortunately. The idea had shown itself inside my mind for a very long time, and like a plentiful weed, it produced seeds, and they spread across my mind like a plague. It was only a matter of time before the weeds overcame the garden. One such evening in particular repeatedly came to my mind as I reviewed our relationship.

"Tess, please, listen to me," I asked of her softly, as I held her close to me in our room on the boat from Tanaris to Orgrimmar. "You have to understand it, if you wish to ultimately understand me."

"But I don't like hearing about it. You aren't one of them. You aren't like that at all. You're so different. A good different. We're different. We both are, and that's why you cannot compare yourself to them. It isn't healthy. It isn't right. You aren't like them at all."

I let out a low exhale, though I do not ultimately need to breath. Breathing was habitual for some Forsaken, while for others it was not. It was the same with food and drink, which I did not partake in either, however. "But I am," I stated simply, "whether you deny it or not. We, the entire Forsaken, will always stand together. We are all the same. We have all suffered the same fate."

"But you... you aren't..." I could tell she was searching for right words to describe her feelings. "You aren't like them at all! Well, maybe some of them are like you. Some of them behave more -"

"Like the living."

She was frowning. I could tell, despite not seeing her face since she was laying on her side, with her back against my chest, from the way her body shifted. I did not pay as much attention to my body as I did to hers. Her body was alive, moving, shifting, awake, full of feelings, and indescribably fascinating. It was especially obvious since her body tensed up. "Tess, I am not a living man." I hated these kinds of conversations, I knew she hated them as well. But they were important, and they needed to be addressed.

"I know," she whispered. "But you are still a man."

"But a dead man."

"You make it sound like it's such a vile combination."

"Because it _is_ a vile combination."

Silence. She did not reply immediately. After several moments of dense silence, she finally whimpered her rebuttal.

"Are... are we a vile combination?"

I was taken aback, and surprised, whether or not the question was ultimately coming our way. I shook my head and I kissed her neck pleadingly, though the doubt managed to spoil my faint burst of compassion in my mind. I squeezed her tighter, and I searched for her hand underneath the sheets. When our hands met, it was almost like being shocked. As if I had touched a lit fuse to my skin. We were so different, primarily in the physical sense. Her hand in itself was plump and fleshly, smooth and free of callous patches. My boney, claw like fingers were beyond a stark contrast to her. It was simple discoveries such as this that made the doubt stronger. I worried then if it had managed to infect her own mind. I would not have been surprised, sadly.

As I held her in the darkness of our room, with only the faint moonlight to pour into our room from the small porthole to the left of the bed, I immediately realized how empty I felt. I recalled my years as a human man, and how in a situation as wretched as this, I knew my heart would be clenching and tight in my chest. But I felt nothing. This startled me extremely, to the point where I thought I would cry out in confusion. I felt absolutely nothing, beyond the sensation of having a person next to me, and the movements she was making. But nothing stirred in me. Nothing but alarm.

It only got worse that evening.

"Theodore, I love you," she stated in the darkness, and her body shifted and turned so that she was now facing me. If I had saliva, I would have swallowed hard. "You love me too, don't you?"

I had to reassure her, despite the strange ideas floating in my head. "Of course I do."

"Say it," she demanded a little firmly, for she reached over and grabbed at my shirt and tugged on it, gripping me tightly in her arms.

I tried not to falter. It wasn't that I did not mean the words I stated, but I feared her mind. I began to develop a notion that despite her well expressed love, that I soon would not be able to express the same amount of devotion back. Something in my mind told me that. I was changing, slowly but gradually. I was frightened. That was the first sensation I had felt that evening in a large amount. Panic and fear that something was wrong. I worried about it, but I needed to reply. She was beginning to falter herself, and I did not want to lose her.

I leaned in a little closer, and I placed my cold, smooth forehead against hers. I mildly felt the sensation of heat, but perhaps that was normal, or I was confusing the sensation for something else. "I do love you, Tess," I stated as softly as I could, despite the raspiness in my voice. But now that the words had already slipped from my lips, I felt a sudden rush of other ideas and worries. I started frantically saying words of endearment to her, and I kissed her face many times. I felt so empty as I did this, and although it can be argued that emptiness is a hard sensation to feel, it is entirely easy to describe. It is the sensation of feeling hollow. As if there is nothing there. Of course, there were my dead organs and remaining muscles inside what areas of flesh still covered my body. It was more of a metaphorical description of what I felt. I could not even say that I was feeling empty. I just was empty, for I did not feel it.

In the darkness of our room, on the ship to Orgrimmar, I knew that something was happening between us both. I knew that whatever we had had in Dalaran would remain a memory for her. I knew that whatever we had developed in Tanaris would also remain as a memory to her. But what would they be to me? Of course I found them pleasurable at the time, but had it been right? Had I done the right thing ultimately, but behaving that way? If any other Forsaken, besides the ones who were aware of what had occurred for having been in either her guild or my own, would they be disgusted and ashamed of me? Perhaps it depended on the person. Yet I certainly could count several people that I knew prior to joining my guild, who would be horrified by my relations with the living. And perhaps there were people who were silently disgusted by her behaviors.

It certainly could not be considered necrophilia, could it, in her culture? In the culture of the living? Would it be that taboo of an act?

I trembled, and I had to repeatedly remind myself to not think about that. But if I was thinking about it, she was most certainly thinking about it. Although she appeared to not be perturbed by the idea, for we _had _made love as best as we could. She could never have children, but I could still adore her, worship her, and love her for what she was: a living being who was different than me. She was the closest and most intimate connection I had to my humanity, for she purposefully made sure she brought it out of me. Perhaps ultimately I did not see what she saw in me. She gained nothing out of our relationship. Weren't the living always looking for something out of the relationship? What in fel could she be getting out of this, that was a positive reason for staying with me?

Her love did not falter on the outside, it seemed. It did not reassure me, however.

She fell asleep with her back against my chest again, for she turned and wanted to be held. I held her very different hand in mine, and I listened to her breathing slow down and become gently relaxed. I did not require sleep, but the entire situation exhausted me. The chilling emptiness made my bones ache. I wished beyond anything to have had a sleeping draught that night.

Because I could not stand to listen to my thoughts rage on in my head any longer.

**ζ**

"What are you talking about, Tess?"

"Targus wants to have us all enlist in the Argent Tournament, even you. The grounds have just finished. He says that we have to do this. He feels it is what we have to do in order to help the Argent Crusade. Many of our guild's members are a part of the Crusade. Many of them helped retake areas of Dragonblight, many are friends with our death-knight comrades who serve the Ebon Blade. Many believe that this is their calling, especially members of the Forsaken. Do you not want revenge against the Lich King? For what he did to you?"

"Of course," I quickly and harshly stated. "Is it not obvious, Tess?"

"But you are putting up so much resistance of me going there, of _us_ going there."

"But we already settled everything. We are each putting down our blades, and we are going to wade through this thing together. We said we were not going to be separated anymore. You said that we were going to take some time for ourselves." I felt partially betrayed, and I could not help but become angered by her decision to go off to Northrend again. How could she do this?

"But Thee, I simply can't. You are making excuses. You know that I want all of that, as well. But you never specified when we were going to do what we agreed upon. I assumed after the Lich King was dead. Everyone's thinking it. He will die. Please, try and understand what I'm saying."

"Tell me again, then. Explain it to me."

"Because, it... it is just something I have to do." She stated solemnly. Her eyes held a mournful look, and I regretted being so harsh with her suddenly. She looked at me dead set, her eyes meeting my glowing yellow sockets, and she shook her head as if she herself were conflicted over the decision. "When Quel'Thalas was raided and ruined by the Scourge, and well, is still being ravaged by the Scourge in both Eversong and the Ghostlands, we lost so many. The Quel'dorei were scrambling to recover their numbers after being decimated. You know this story. It is why we were renamed, as a people, the Blood Elves. In honor of the fallen. Look at your leader, Sylvanas. She is a High Elf. She is fighting for her fallen comrades, those she fought alongside with at the Sunwell as a ranger."

After several moments of silence, she continued. "I have to do this. The Sin'dorei, the Argent Crusade, my companions... they are all so willing to lay down their lives for the fallen. For the people who were slain and slaughtered, risen and destroyed again and again. The death-knights, the Quel'dorei. The humans of Lordaeron. Do you not wish to stand against the Scourge with me? Why are you being so hesitant of going again to Northrend? Do you not wish to stand with your brethren, the Forsaken?"

"Of course _I _do! Do not even start with that. Of course I want to stand and obliterate the Scourge. Of course the Lich King deserves everything that is going to be coming at him like a tidal wave sent from the depths of the soldiers anger. Of course I want to stand and fight. But I," I looked to Tess with a faint, stirring sense of desperation. "Tess, I do not want to lose you. I know you and Targus think that this is the right thing to do, joining the Tournament, but you have to think about the bigger picture. It is dangerous. We may have saved Azeroth for a short period in Ulduar, but I do not think you understand why Arthas Menethil is so deathly feared. I cannot lose you. You know why? Because you will be raised into becoming a mindless pawn of the Scourge. You realize this, right? And if not that, you will be taken prisoner. Professor Putridcide... he is a feared member of the Scourge, by all people. The living and the dead. Do you realize that if you are taken prisoner, you will be experimented upon, you will be tortured, but you will not be given freedom through death. They can reanimate you. They can make you live a dreadful few days again and again, just for their own research. Please, think about this. I know you and Targus believe that you are strong, and yes, to a degree you all are, but this is beyond getting revenge, this is the Scourge we are talking about. Revenge means nothing if you will be raised into undeath as a mindless pawn, only to further prolong the plight!"

"But someone has to stand and fight!"

"And there are plenty who will. You have already honored your people, Tess! Please, think this through more."

"I have thought it through! And I'm going! Why are you being so cowardly all of a sudden? When you and I fought in Ulduar, you were so willing to fight." She was furious. "You cannot keep me contained, hidden away in the mountains. I cannot do that, not when I know my loved ones are out there, possibly dying! I can save them, I can help them. And you want me to stand aside! I can't do it! Please, Thee, don't make me choose," she cried out with a sob. And the sob shook me horridly. I narrowed my boney-brows, and I shook my head multiple times out of conflicted feelings.

"Well then fine!" I shouted at her in a fit of anger and bitterness after several moments of awkward silence again. I did not realize I was clenching my withered jaw as well as my boney fingers into a fist until I saw her eyes widen slightly. I let out a cough, a horrid cough in which I spewed up dust into the palm of my hand, out of stress. Tess looked at me with concern, but I brushed it off callously. "Just leave," I stated coldly and I pointed to the door of our small room in Orgrimmar's inn. It seemed that a majority of our conversation was spent with silence as we each stared at each other. Ultimately, however, she lowered her gaze when she saw that I could not meet her eyes anymore. I did not look at her even, and I held my sight to the dusty ground before me. "Just go. You never wanted to be with me anyways," I added as a final jab, and I heard a sharp gasp escape from her lips.

"What! What are you saying now! How dare you say something like that! How could you even think of something like that! I love you, Thee." She whispered inbetween heavy sobs. I trembled when I heard her sobs, and I still could not look at her any longer. She came close to me, and decided to wrap her arms around my chest from behind, and in multiple bursts of crying and sobs, she told me repeatedly that she was sorry.

I do not know for how long I had been pondering it, or how long it simply was stewing in my body like a vile vermin, or a plague that finally had spread to my brain. But now it was alive, this virus. This idea that was churning in my body, in my rotten brain, in my thoughts. I knew it was so. It was noticeable all along, but now it was here. In front of our faces, and she was in denial. Everyone could ultimately see it. It was dark, it was potent, and it was pathetic to keep going on like this. We could not be this way anymore. Reaching for something that simply could not exist in this world. Not with the way things were. We could not keep going like this anymore. It was not fair to her, especially. She was the one who was alive. Not me. I was the corpse. She was the living being.

I pushed her away, with one forceful shove. I yelled at her to leave. She had to go. She would simply have to understand now, or then. It was better that she learn it now, when it would not be as hard as it would be then. But it had to be done.

She did not say anything to me after I pushed her away. She let out a sigh of exasperation and then finally stated, with an empty, helpless tone. "Alright. If that is what you wish, Theodore Rozenheart."

I grimaced briefly when she said my name, but I could not look up, else I would find myself calling for her to come back to my forsaken arms. But it was more than just our own splitting of ways. We had always been destined for different paths. I was finally beginning to realize it. We simply could not be moving together any longer. Our momentum was not strong enough to overcome the resistance, the force that was eager to pull us apart. It was wrong. What we were attempting or even thinking of doing was wrong. Nature simply denoted that we, the living and the dead, be separated beyond all reach. It had to end this way. Before it destroyed us both. Before we were crushed by fate. She was tempting my resolve, as she walked away. She did not look back. I did not look up.

It was better this way.

Or at least I convinced myself that it was.

Yet when she was out of the room, I found myself looking up, almost expecting either myself, or her, to be running back into each other's arms.

It did not happen.

**ζ**

What slaves are we to this torment.

To this aching thirst for resolving the faults of death, and to be a stain upon history. To be nothing more than a filthy and fiendish memory. What torture lies in the waking moment that we are alive in a paradox. Perhaps this is what I used to believe at one point in my life.

Perhaps my vengeance will finally be fulfilled. I can no longer wait with anger, impatience, and disgust for our victory to come with full force, without delving into everything at my grasps with high momentum. I had become cowardly in the past, but that was no longer. It was time. No longer could we be slaves to this torment any longer. No longer could we stew in this rot any longer. Not without justice. Not without a reason. No longer could the call of the Forsaken go unheard of. No longer could we be the vermin of the Horde. Not any longer.

For everyone could see it.

The Horde and the Alliance will be the ones begging for our mercy, soon enough.

Starting with our home, Lordaeron.

It was ours.

The living possessed none of it. They were simply squatting upon land that was not theirs. They wanted to push us out, to shoo us away as if we were rats who carried the plague.

But they did not realize it.

They were the ones who carried a plague.

The plague of the living.


	2. And you are?

**The Unstable Affliction**

_"And you are...?"_

_**Author's Note**: Starts where Ring of Fire left off, and ends back in the present. Reviews loved. Blightflame Masjenal is a character who has not been implemented into the World of Warcraft MMO. She is a dwarf turned Forsaken, and she is the leader of the implantation department of the Royal Apothecary Society.  
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><p>I was happy. Legitimately happy in that very moment. I had to be.<p>

Happiness was not something that came and danced with me on a yearly basis. But it was happening now. With her in my arms. Everything was so right. _Everything is right_, I reminded myself in that moment in time. We swayed gently in the firelight, murmuring little words and phrases of endearment to one another. In the distance on the sandy shore, someone was playing what sounded like a pipe or a conch shell. The noise was low and soft, and it was pleasing to the ears. It made me feel content, and by the smile on her face, I knew she was content as well.

"Tess," I whispered softly to her, with a little bit of raspiness in my voice. I simply enjoyed saying her name, and she seemed to enjoy hearing the way I said it. She was shorter than me, and thus she had to lift her chin up in order to lay a kiss on my cheek. "Theodore," she replied with a playful smile.

We were swaying together on the sandy shore, in the same place in which we had made love the previous night in Tanaris. It was sunset, and earlier in the day we each participated in a guild wide, both of our guilds, festival and party. It was a calmer party, and simply not as rowdy as the previous evening's. Next to the small bonfire she lit for us both was a spread out blanket as well as a satchel that was filled with a selection of books that we were reading earlier in the shade of a palm tree. She preferred poetry while I preferred reading books on engineering. The _Gadgetzan Gazette_ was also folded neatly under her satchel, and we discussed earlier politics and the up and coming Argent Tournament. We did quarrel slightly over the Argent Crusade's intentions, as well as the problems with the Kor'kron and the Forsaken, but we resolved those matters quickly.

Tess was wearing a light blue dress that fell down all the way to her knees. It had short, ruffled sleeves, and it modestly showed a little bit of her bosom (I was pleased to see). She was very limber that evening, and unlike myself, she was able to bend and twist in ways I could not as we danced on the shore. She was barefoot, and she wanted to repeatedly remind me how nice sand felt under her toes. Unfortunately, I could not share in the pleasurable venture. We both had known how to dance already, so there was little awkwardness between us. She told me her mother taught her, and I told her that I learned from a past friend, when I had been alive.

"What else do you remember about your past life?"

"Quite more than I sometimes wish," I replied quickly.

"Oh." I was glad that she sensed the unwillingness in my voice, and she backed off from the topic. She looked up at my face, looking into my eye sockets where the eerie yellow glow of necromantic energy presented itself. She narrowed her own brows suddenly and I titled my head, implying that I was wondering what she was thinking about. "It's just your... eyes, I suppose I could call them, I have to ask... if I placed my finger in there, would that hurt? Would I touch anything?"

"I have a brain, Tess. It does not function in the manner that I suppose a living man's brain would work, but it is there. Apothecaries and Forsaken priests quickly worked to create a log of anomalies and strange occurrences amongst my people. Some of us have jaws, others don't. Some of us have an actual eyeball, some don't. Some people have no hair, some do. Some people are more decayed than others, it all depends. Some of us experience different emotions, others don't."

In the distance a few seagulls began to make noise, and I suddenly felt myself listening to our surroundings, absentmindedly. I did not enjoy the topic of my body frankly, for I felt like I was some kind of science experiment that the living enjoyed studying. I know Tess' intentions were entirely innocent, but the idea remained fresh in my mind at any sign of inquisition. I shrugged my shoulders and I lowered my hands away from her waist up to tightly wrap around her hands.

After several moments of silence, of us standing there, Tess finally stated apologetically, "I'm sorry, I know this is an awkward conversation. Perhaps we should sit down for a little bit? Read some more?"

I nodded, and we both sat down on the blanket. As it began to reach nightfall, and the area around us began to darken, I lit a fire with some flint and tinder I carried in my satchel. She began to read the newspaper she purchased from Gadgetzan, while I simply willed myself to relaxation, and allowed my sense of awareness to dissipate. Tess liked to call it the time where I "really became dead to the world," because I willed myself to become completely still, and even more corpse-like than before. I considered it my own form of rest and sleep, and I only allowed it of myself if I knew I were in a safe situation. I fully trusted Tess. She was more than able to take care of me and herself in my debilitated yet restful state. This period of hibernation lasted a few hours, at maximum, and I always felt at least a little more refreshed than I had before, depending on the length of time in which I had not had a chance to rest. The previous evening, I was able to rest for several hours, partially because I felt comfortable as well as partially tired. Tess would soon be following me into sleep, I figured.

She saw that I was falling asleep, so she leaned over me, and with a broad smile she stated, "Goodnight, Theodore. Sleep well."

And then the yellow glow faded from my eyes.

**ξ**

"Is tha' plague canister almoost repaired, Theodore?"

"Almost," I replied quickly, as I pressed a button on my goggles that allowed me to zoom in on whatever I was looking at, a built-in magnifying glass. I reached up and with my gyromatic micro-adjuster, and twisted the final and remaining screw into place. "There. That should do it. No more leakage, I hope."

"It better na' leak anymer. Precious material is being held in these canisters."

"Yes, yes, of course. Then remind those that will be testing it to be more careful, themselves."

Brightflame Masjenal snorted and lifted up the small plague canister off of the table, in order to properly inspect it for herself. She looked pleased, or at least that was all I was able to decipher from the grin on her twisted face. She looked back to me, and replied, "Aye. She looks ready. Very good. There are a few more tha' need repairin'. Tell the other engineers, as well as Llyod, that he an' the others are doin' quite well. These are very important devices, as ye are well aware. Can ye fix the others?"

"Of course. Myself and Llyod have already inspected the other canisters remaining, we believe that they are repairable. If anything changes, we will alert you immediately. We will report on what made them defective, and how many are irreparably broken."

"Very well, though at this moment, Faranell will be pleased to hear tha' the repairs are goin' smoothly, and tha' the others can be fixed. Continue as planned."

I nodded after hearing my further instructions, and I walked over to the other pile of broken (and thankfully empty) canisters in order to begin work on another. Masjenal left the area, her short and stout dwarf frame efficiently leaving to report the news to the High Apothecary. Masjenal headed the implantation department of the Royal Apothecary Society, and she answered to both the High Apothecary as well as her majesty, the Dark Lady. Both would be pleased to hear of the news that the canisters would be able to be repaired, and not replaced. From what I knew, these canisters were made of rare and expensive materials, and that the materials within the Undercity that were stock piled needed to be conserved. I understood this clearly, for I could see that the replacement of the canisters would be a heavy and burdensome setback for the plans of the her majesty, the Dark Lady.

Myself and another fellow engineer who worked under Masjenal began to work on another canister in silence. Silence was preferred, for the task of repairing a broken canister was grueling, especially since neither of us knew what was entirely wrong with them. I only knew that the last few that I had repaired were leaking due to faulty screws. I tightened all of the screws and made sure that the release hatch on the canisters were in prime condition. After an hour or so of work, the three canisters I finished repairing were as good as new.

I knew immediately that the release mechanism on this canister was broken, and that the latch itself would need to be replaced. I grumbled to myself quietly, and checked to make sure that there were no other dire problems with this canister. To my relief, it seemed that the mechanism was the only thing I would need to repair. I stood up from the stool that I sat upon, and I turned to the other engineer, alerting them that I would need to go to the stockroom and get some replacement wires and other supplies. The other Forsaken male hardly looked up, and only replied with a grunt of acknowledgment as he himself was already engrossed in doing his job.

The stockroom of supplies was across the canal in the Apothecarium, in which all of the supplies for operations involving the Royal Apothecary Society were held. I walked diligently through the underground tunnels and hallways inside of the quarter, knowing all too well that I could not waste any time. I cared deeply about my work, and I did not want to disappoint. Work was all I had. Work was the only thing that mattered. This work provided me a comfortable means, if the Forsaken themselves could live a comfortable un-life, as well as provide me with a decent reputation. Workmanship was valued amongst the Forsaken, for no civilian or soldier was left to be a bystander or as a ongoing looker. Everyone had a job in the Undercity. No one slacked.

I was so engrossed in the items that I needed, making a mental list in my mind, that I did not notice the mounted woman who was looking at me across the quarter. The woman trotted over to me, holding the reigns in her hands firmly. I did not recognize her, yet she seemed to recognize me.

"Theodore?" The woman asked, as she now stood in hearing range for me.


	3. Remember Patience Discipline

The Unstable Affliction

_**Author's Note:** It seems that this piece is developing quite quickly in my mind, and I scrawled out a majority of this chapter in my college's library. Most of it was written on my iPhone, so who knows what kind of hideous typos will initially be in here. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this part. There will be no flashbacks to the past, this is a chapter that is entirely in the present, in case that confuses / bothers you. Ideas / thoughts / inquiries would make me overjoyed. Oh, to clarify: the "horror" side of things will be developing later. The "romance" sort of thing thus far has been through flashbacks into the past, but ultimately it will be coming in perhaps the next chapter. Ultimately this is more of a... drama at the moment. If I had to put a word to it. These chapters are meant to be short. This chapter in particular is mainly dialogue / banter._

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><p><em>"Remember: patience... discipline."<em>

I turned my head and looked at the woman seated upon a black war-charger covered in crimson and gold armor. She was garbed in white and beige colored plate armor, though the lower half of her face was covered by a piece of cloth, probably to lessen the putrid smell of the Undercity in general. The living despised the Undercity, and few chose to conduct business here. Blood Elves were the only formally welcomed individuals, who although thoroughly were displeased by the Undercity, conducted the most business here of all of the Horde's collectively different races, excluding the Kor'kron Orcs stationed everywhere.

"I had no idea you would be here. Perhaps I should have assumed you would have come here." The woman's voice was faintly muffled by the piece of cloth, and thus she chose to lower the cloth entirely. "Come now, surely you remember me?"

How couldn't I. This was the woman who was a siren who sought to damn not only herself, but me as well. I did not have time for this. I had business to attend to. Very important business that did not involve her. She was a pest. I did not want to hear her sob story. But it was far from a sob story, in the grand scheme of things.

"You should not be here," I stated coldly. I shook my head and began to walk away, only to have her horse neigh and move in front of me. I snorted my distaste. "Really, you should not have come here. Are you foolish?"

"Perhaps I am. Now answer the question: what are you doing here?"

"Working, and I have no time to waste. You should leave now, and most importantly get out of here." My thoughts as well as my spoken words of advice were fragmented, and I myself could hardly follow. She somehow managed to understand, yet continued to pursue negligence for her safety. Even if she was allowed to wander through these halls, it did not abstain my people from...taking advantage of a good opportunity. And by that, I mean a test subject.

"Don't be ridiculous, I am welcome here."

"So you foolishly believe."

"That is relative. You are distracting me from my point. Can you not spare some time for an old comrade?"

She said it with such a lack of passion, unlike how she normally conversed with others. On top of this I was considered a comrade. Perhaps I was wrong about my initial worries. Maybe she felt nothing anymore. Maybe she moved on. That would be good to know, the best actually.

"Is that too much to ask? Have I displeased you?"

I could not help but shrug my shoulders briefly. I met her gaze and stated, "Your presence here infuriates me."

"Oh, I suppose that is problematic, surely. Unfortunately there are matters to discuss beyond the both of us. You will have to simply listen."

"You are going to rely on supposition in order to talk to me? No, do not bother, for I am very serious when I say that I do not wish to see you."

"How is this any different from your normal conversations?" She folded her arms across her plated chest, though I took the moment to notice that she was donning the tabard of the Argent Crusade. "You are always serious. Why even address it? It is stating the obvious." She was annoying me now, purposefully, in order to spite me.

"You are wasting my time." I spoke sharply, interrupting her before she could say anything else. I pushed her horse, which in turn angered the beast into raising its front legs, and subsequently its hooves, in protest. It nearly crushed me with its large hooves. She did not seem too perturbed by this, yet quickly she soothed it quietly and forced it to move in between myself and my destination, where my business was calling me.

"I will not tell you again, you waste my time. Not let me leave. Guards will remove you with force otherwise."

"Then I will state my business quickly, comrade."

"Quit the sarcasm."

"I am hardly being sarcastic. Do you prefer sarcasm?"

I gestured for her to continue, and I narrowed my boney brows also.

"I am here to inform you that the necessary shipment of materials for your department's plague canisters have been intercepted by my small squadron as we were making our way to the Undercity from Hearthglen. Your fellow citizens transporting the goods were massacred, I will properly inform you. By whom I could not immediately tell you. We are investigating this question at this time, hence why I am here, for one." She paused in order to let her words seep in. I was quite surprised actually. Yet I was more so concerned with the ramifications. I was lost in my thoughts that I did not see her slide off of her horse and grab me by the shoulder roughly. In a hushed yet clearly furious tone she continued to inquire. "Just what in _fel_ are the Forsaken _doing?_ Well? Surely you must be able to explain your _traitorous_ selves. Just what are you thinking? Plague production," the two words were hardly mumbled, "is what the Forsaken are _doing?_ This is what you have fallen to? The Scourge used the plague! You know, the Lich King? By fel you are treading dangerous waters. I would trek carefully, comrade," she added a guttural noise after the word "comrade," and I knew she would hurt me if the circumstances allowed. "Your people are truly heathens if you are actually doing so. How could you even think of this? First the Wrathgate, and now this? What is this?"

After several moments of constrained silence, I stated, "It is none of your concern." I neither denied or accepted her accusation.

"It concerns the Argent Crusade plenty!"

"You really joined that organization?"

"Yes! Because I believe in standing for justice and peace, and I believe that the Scourge must be contained, and not allowed to present itself again. I will not stand for it."

She was gradually becoming hysterical. "Calm down," I sighed. It sounded more like a command than a suggestion. She did not sober, however.

"This is wrong and you know it!"

"Work is all that matters, you do not understand. Do not foolishly judge what you do not understand."

"Oh, I understand plenty! You are practically slime in my eyes!"

"As it should be, the Forsaken are the rot upon the flesh of the living. As it should rightfully be."

Now she sobered after that comment. It was as if she finally could understand. It dawned on her quickly then. I was very different. "Who are you?"

I know what she meant by the phrase, yet I chose to pester her further. "I am Forsaken."

She frowned: the first time she had shown signs of despair throughout this exhausting conversation. "You are not who I once knew."

"You did not know me then, you never did."

"And so I should know you now? Just from your behaviors from the last time we were together and now? Is that how it is? Is this what you have become? I understand you must serve your people, but this is... it is beyond foolish. I cannot even think of the right word. You are doing something truly, truly wrong. Please, please, do not do this. Get out of it now. If your people look for you, we can protect you -"

"I do not need protection. I will not betray what I am." I interrupted her again and I pushed her aside. "It is as it should be. You are a living being, and I am Forsaken. We are not the same. You are very delusional." With a exhale of air, I added, "You do not know your allies, yet you call yourself a part of the Horde. It is an alliance of convenience, and you know this to be very true. Your people hold the most prejudice out of them all."

"I never prejudged you, but fine, if you want the truth: damnit you are a fel touched corpse! I never ever believed you to be like this! I know who you are. This is not you. They have ruined you! If this is what you are allowing yourself to become, then fine, I will not stop you, but by the gods! Think with something, anything, whatever organ you have and live by, and let it provide some sense! This is madness, this is ridiculous! How dare you even think of doing this!"

She was yelling now out of desperation. She was furious. A few studious alchemists at their nearby areas looked up, disturbed by her interjection. I let out a heavy rush of air. "You need to leave now."

"Make me, Theodore! Make me! I quite honestly want you to throw me out. I cannot stand another minute in this place. Go on, drag me out of here." Her eyes almost seemed to be electrifying, and her gaze was violent. I felt a small twinge of sensation erupt inside of me when she called me by my name, and I almost worried that I would lose my control if I were not careful. Yet a sudden fragment of myself wanted to whisper her name in return, and pull her into my arms. I wanted to tell her that everything would be okay. That I was indeed making a mistake.

But I knew better. I could not walk down that path any longer. That was a lie ultimately.

"Fine, if that is what you want, arcane addict." I gestured to one of the nearby Kor'kron Orcs to take her away from the Undercity. One of the bigger Orcs saw my gesture and walked over to the both of us. He grunted and looked at me carefully, if not a little suspiciously. She gasped and her moved her gaze back and forth from the orc to myself, struggling to get out of the sudden grip that the large orc had on her wrist before she knew it.

"You can't do this to yourself! This is not right!"

I ignored her pleas, and instead informed the orc of what was going on. "She is being a disturbance to this area. Please assure me that you will take her out of the Undercity, and on the next zeppelin to Orgrimmar. Now. I will alert your superior to pay you extra for this favor. She is delusional and perhaps needs to speak with a healer. Do whatever you have to do to make her submissive. She is violent and dangerous. Good day to you both. Dark Lady watch over you."

The orc shrugged, probably because it was too stupid and gullible, and thus it obliged and began to drag both her and her horse, by its reigns, towards the elevators and eventually to the zeppelin tower. She struggled feverishly, and she nearly started to bite at the orc's hand. I saw that the orc was quickly tired of her behaviors, and took my advice; thus, he let go of the horse's reigns briefly in order to whack her head firmly, not fatally I assumed, but in order to make her unconscious. She must have become unconscious, because she stopped moving, falling limp in the orc's plated arms. Her horse was alarmed briefly, but was reassured by a few grumbled words I assumed, or whatever it was the orc decided to do to calm the beast. I could not tell as they finally moved beyond my line of sight.

I turned away and did not look back.

It had to be done. I forced myself back into the proper mindset. I could not falter. I had a purpose that no longer involved her.

Yet I found myself sighing her name once and only once on my way again to the inner areas of the Apothecarium.


	4. Do not tempt my wrath!

_**Author's Note:** Wrote this out in one setting. Quite pleased with myself for that. Lots of lurkers, I have noticed. Typos will be taken care of in the next twenty-four hours.  
><em>

_**Disclaimer:** Blizzard owns WoW, not me. I own my characters._

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><p>The Unstable Affliction<p>

Chapter Four

_"Do not tempt my wrath."_

She was surely asking for trouble if she even believed that her actions would not be noticed. She would be fooling herself far too easily if she assumed this. She made a fool of herself. She was tempting fate far too willingly. She knew not what she was doing. She made a horrible mistake. The consequences would show themselves before she knew it. It was only a matter of time. Her reckless abandonment of her reason was astonishing.

She was truly not the same woman I once knew.

Or perhaps it was myself who changed.

_Of course you have changed! Is it not obvious? Are you too blind? Have the sockets in your skull become clouded by corpse dust? Are you looking into a fog? Why even allow yourself to think of such! You walk a beaten path. Walk away from it before you ruin yourself further._

Ruin myself? Is that what was happening?

_Ridiculous. Do not even try to use that as an excuse. You were ruined the moment you were raised from the dead and enslaved by the Scourge. You are Forsaken. You no longer need to be enslaved by the betrayal. You no longer need to be beguiled into such contempt. Do not be tricked by a woman, for women are concubine of the flesh. Especially the living. The unliving women are more sombre. But the living. The living are temptresses; she lies. Male or female, the living are not to be trusted._

I felt the cold sneer of my thoughts, and I remembered what was important to me now. My people. Yet still, even hours, and eventually days after being confronted by the living ghost from my past, and despite the protection of my mental volition, I was tempted to think about her. The woman I once so wrongly thought I loved. The woman who seemed so different, even though I knew that it could only be myself who changed. Her spirit was still strong; she was still alive. Her beliefs were cut deeper into stone, and she now vocally expressed her opinion more often because of me. She was more confident now.

Perhaps it could be said that we both did change. Who changed for the better, though? Neither, at least in the other's eyes. To the other we were very different. Yet to ourselves we were the same. It was foolish to believe otherwise.

This distraction needed to be eradicated. Time was an important factor, as it always was. There was a pre-set schedule that could not be detracted from. I needed to maintain my focus. But her image chose to weave its way into my thoughts immediately after they were extinguished. The image and the sound, her voice, played like a moving picture in my rotten skull. My work was suffering because of her. In the past week my efficiency at repairing the plague canisters became noticed. I was severely punished for such. I deserved it. They questioned me, my supervisors, and demanded what was wrong. I felt too ashamed to tell the truth. I lied and said that I was pestered by maggots and worms in my restful sleeping state, and that I could not fully rejuvenate because of it. As I stated, I was punished and was told to fix the problem before it got me reassigned.

I experienced a strange mixture of sensations one evening as I lay in my coffin, where I slept, in my small home outside of the Undercity. The shame was the most significant; yet, it was not just a disappointment in my own work, but it was also a sense of discontent at the fact that there was another, slightly less prominent, sensation holding me back from doing what needed to be done for the Royal Apothecary Society. I could not properly define the sensation, despite knowing somewhere in my mind I knew that I had at one time in my distant past, a few years or so ago, experienced. It frustrated me to the point that I sat up in my coffin hunched over. My head rested in my hands, and a guttural sound repeatedly escaped my throat.

I kept seeing her image in my mind, her voice echoing throughout my thoughts. The lesser sensations I could properly define: the frustration, the anger, the confusion, the distaste. I wanted to clearly define the sensation I had once felt, and was now experiencing again, but I could not properly explain it. It was like I was wounded in the chest, but in more of an ache, like a tender muscle. I knew that I was not physically wounded, nor was I injured from strained muscles, but I felt the sharp and punctual poke. Perhaps a rib bone was fractured? Attempting to poke from my flesh? I lowered a hand to touch my ribcage. No odd bulges could be found. It could not be explained by that, then.

My home was silent, besides the low noises I made. It was like I was gasping for breath, or shuddering my own breath (I cannot properly describe it, seeing as how I do not breathe) from my throat. It was a brutal sound, and it made the ache worse. I gripped the sides of my open coffin now, and my boney fingers drew lazy, slow circles on the wood. Finally I stood up by pushing off the sides of the coffin. I stepped over the side of the coffin and walked over to the wooden desk in the corner of my room. I felt around for the small box of matches on my desk in the darkness, found it after a few moments of groping around, pulled out a match, flicked my fingers together in order to create a spark with my own use of magic, and then lit the candle on my desk.

Promptly the room began to be illuminated by the candle's flickering flame, and I walked over to my bookshelf on the opposite side of my coffin. My fingers were drawn immediately to one book in particular. With an exhale of air and dust, I pulled the book off of the shelf and slowly moved across my room again in order to sit down at my desk. The book lay on the wood with almost a jeering disposition, and I slouched over the table with my head in my hands again. Shame stood arrogantly before me with a similar taunting gesture, and I felt even more exhausted.

It was a dictionary that my fingers chose to pull from the small library. It was an aged book, which a thin layer of dust on the leathery cover. It was quite thick, full of knowledge and words that I knew I would never memorize. It was written in Common; a language that I just barely remembered fragments of. My boney fingers fell from my face and moved to trail over the book's cover. I leaned my head closer and blew the dust away. I opened the nearby drawer of the desk and pulled out a small glass lens. The writing was quite small, and I needed the lens in order to read the print more easily. Death did not mar my vision too much, but the lens would help in the poor lighting.

I simply flipped through the pages, not particularly drawn to any certain words. I eventually fell upon the word 'distraction.' I put my lens over the word and promptly read the two definitions to myself:

_ 1. Something that makes it difficult to think or pay attention._

_ 2. Something that offers an escape so that one does not think about problems, work, etc._

I then immediately searched for 'escape,' as I quickly desired an explanation for the second definition. Once I found the word, I quickly followed suit by putting the lens over the word and read the several definitions to myself. Only one caught my attention fully.

_15. The avoidance of reality._

Reality? That meant living. But I needed a clearer idea.

_1. The state of things as they are or appear to be, rather than as one might wish them to be._

_As one might wish them to be, rather than how they are,_ I thought as the pain in my chest stirred again. I groaned and shook my head with disgust. This was not getting me anywhere. I shoved the heavy book a little and folded my arms across my chest, displeased entirely with the results of my interests. I stared at the book for several minutes, without thinking a single thing. Then it dawned on me. After this sudden realization, I rapidly began to flip through the pages again in search of one word. There were only a few pages left in the book once I finally found the word I needed to understand fully.

Yearning (noun):

_1. An intense or overpowering longing, desire, or need;_ _a __craving._

But what was it that I was craving? It still was unclear. Yet I began to think about the word distraction, reality, and yearning. In the safety of my own home I was allowed to think of these things without reproval. A _yearning _so strong that it served as a _distraction_ and _escape_ from _reality_. But what was it that I needed? I had everything. There were no other needs. There was nothing that I needed. This was beginning to become foolish and ridiculous extremely fast. The shame only began to build stronger, and I shook my head in frustration. I had gone seeking answers but ended up becoming more estranged by my own surroundings and beliefs. I felt lost all over again. I shut the dictionary with a thud and stood from my chair, blew out the candle, and abandoned the book with an added grunt as I walked back to my open coffin.

I fell asleep quickly, and without much effort thankfully.

It was only when I remembered my dreams, if one could call them such, the next day as I was putting together pieces of equipment for the Royal Apothecary Society, working as diligently as I could up until then, that I realized what it was I yearned for.

ξ

Dream (noun):

_7. A wild or vain fancy._

_ 8. Something of an unreal beauty, charm, or excellence._

ξ

_She stirs to life beneath my fingertips. Her eyes begin to open, fluttering gently. She yawns groggily, without much conscious thought. It takes her a few moments for her to fully awaken. She smiles up at me, gently and without much rush. She curls a finger towards me, even with sleep-ridden eyes, and I lean towards her without much thought. Her lips are plump and ripe, and her eyes close again as my own lips enclose around hers. She shudders. I smile into our kiss. We part eventually, lazily separating. Her mood is elevated by our good morning ventures, as well as previous evening's fancies, and before the day and following evening is gone, I am enveloped in her arms again, craving her scent and smell. It is safe here, even though here is not really anywhere. We almost are floating away. Effortlessly stationary yet floating away in the others presence. It is rosy and there is nothing to fear here. Yet here is not anywhere really. Here is somewhere, but not anywhere but here. Here is where she is. Here is where I belong._

ξ

I dreamed of everything that one can dream about in a lengthy rest. I dreamed shamelessly of her. I dreamed of holding her, kissing her, laughing with her, smiling with her, talking with her, and living with her. There was no limit to where we could be, what we could do, or who we could be. I dreamed that we were in the Alterac Mountains, living beside Lordamere Lake, lazily having a picnic by the shore. I dreamed of making love to her over and over on that shore. I dreamed of whispering her name. Her name was so beautiful to me; so delicate that I was afraid to use her name otherwise, as if I were taking her name in vain in any other situation. I dreamed of being a human again, of being alive again. I dreamed of being anyone but the accursed mass of rotten flesh and bones that were for some unholy reason had been reanimated into life without consent. I dreamed of a different _reality_.

So to every full extent of each word, it was a horror and a disturbing pleasure at the same time. But it was not real. It could not be real. When the memory came over me, I unknowingly was shocked to the point that I actually dropped the fixed plague canister to the ground as I carried it to the table where the finished canisters went, breaking its sensitive outer shell all over again. Thankfully it was empty. The shattering noise alone was more than enough to stir my supervisor as well as the other worker in the area. I was trembling, especially my hands which were shaking violently. I felt the pain in my chest again. I felt horrible, consumed by ignominy. But I needed to compose myself again. I dropped to my knees in order to collect the broken pieces as my supervisor stood up from his chair and walked over to me. He pushed me aside and picked up the largest portion of the canister.

"Report to the infirmary, _now_. You are obviously beginning to show signs of decay. Look at your hands. You have cost us too much, Rozenheart. We told you to get better. We cannot afford to have materials broken daily. _You_ need to be reassigned to a different position. The Apothecaries need this work finished. Obviously you are inept to do this anymore, with your lack of attention to your work as well as this incident itself." He pointed for me to leave, and I quickly scrambled to my feet and made my way out of the area, back to the canals. I made my way to the infirmary in the War Quarter after removing my special goggles that I had made for my work.

A bottled emotion suddenly began to stir in my thoughts again, and I moved into a thin alley on my way to the infirmary. Once in the secluded shelter of the alley, I slammed my clenched, boney fist against the wall in frustration and disgust. I leaned my pale forehead against the wall, feeling a faint sensation of coldness, and let out an exhale of air and dust. I clenched my intact jaw roughly, and I knew that the violent rage that amassed itself inside of me could only be directed at one thing.

The woman I both _yearned_ for and hated all at the same time.

The woman I _craved_ and wanted to kill at the same time.

The woman who made me _desire_ a different reality all together.

The woman who haunted my dreams as a ghost from a long ago past.

I needed to be rid of her. She tempted my wrath for the last time.

I would kill her before she ruined me.

I would kill her before she killed me.


	5. Slaughter anyone who stands in our way

_**Author's Note: **By far one of the more heart-wrenching pieces to write. I had to stop a few times. I hope you enjoy.**  
><strong>_

_**Disclaimer: **I do not own WoW. I own my characters and plot.**  
><strong>_

_**WARNING! : **__Some mature themes in this chapter in regards to cannibalism and violence. Morality will be coming into question. If I need to up the rating, I will up the rating._

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><p>The Unstable Affliction<p>

Chapter Five

_"We are Forsaken. We will slaughter __**anyone**__ who stands in our way."_

I never went to the infirmary as I was ordered; instead, I made my way as undetected as possible throughout the inner confines of the Undercity to the elevators in order to make my way home. I needed to gather my belongings, get my horse from the stables, and ride to the Western Plaguelands. I could not let this annoyance continue any longer. I needed to destroy my problem from the source itself. Tempting my wrath for this long simply brought this upon her. My plans would be cunning and fierce, the deed to occur swiftly and without detection. I need to be as brutal as a lion, yet as cunning as a fox. It could no longer perpetuate like this; something needed to be done. Now I understood what it was I craved fully. I craved her blood on my hands. I hated her. I wanted to do unspeakable things to her; she was a living creature. It only partially disturbed me when I thought of tasting her flesh when she was scattered to pieces, either when she was still alive or all together dead.

_Perhaps I will not do that_, I stated to myself as I thought about it more in the elevator leading to Lordaeron's ruins. Part of my mind grimaced at the idea of eating her flesh. Or perhaps I grimaced at the idea in general, regardless of who was the potential victim. I knew that some Forsaken enjoyed the flesh of a creature freshly killed. Many partook in cannibalism, having abandoned their humanity all together. _Humanity? We never even thought to have that. Some believe it is a delusion. We never tricked ourselves to believe we were created to possess a humanity, because we weren't._ It had been proven that through partaking in cannibalism of the living, a Forsaken could gain regenerative qualities as well as more strength (strength being mental agility or physical strength) in combat. Thus the reason why many chose to commit such an act. Some Forsaken even stated that the longer the corpse had sat, and the more decayed it was, the better the effects. Some stated that flies were an added touch as well. It was not wrong in the standards of the Forsaken as to how it was with the living. _But_ _then again, hardly anything is forbidden in the case of horrid acts; it brings us back to the belief that we have no humanity in general. _Yet without my consent, I did develop a sense of humanity for a short period of time, the time when I was blinded by something that could not exist. Did I have even a shred of humanity left? Was it all entirely dissolved by now? Years later? _Yes and no_. I _have to have just a small amount. Enough to spare her from cannibalism, at least._ _I cannot do that to her. She will put up a fight, surely, in her own defense. She will simply have to kill me first, then._

I nearly ran to my home just outside the Undercity, eager to begin my journey to the Western Plaguelands, to Hearthglen specifically, where the Argent Crusade had commandeered the old Scarlet Crusade encampment as a headquarters away from Light's Hope Chapel in the Eastern Plaguelands. She would surely be there, returning to her headquarters with little information. Once at my small estate, I immediately went to my personal quarters and removed myself of my work clothes in order to replace them with the armor I wore during my time in Ulduar. The supplies needed were gathered and thrown, almost haphazardly into a nearby satchel. Briefly I glanced at the dictionary on my desk, and scowled. Without much thought, I decided to bring the latest issue of the _Gadgetzan Gazette_, just in case I needed something to read on this blood quest.

Unfortunately it soon dawned on me that perhaps she would not be in Hearthglen, but instead in Orgrimmar. After all, I did order that Kor'kron Orc to get rid of her by placing her on the next zeppelin to the Horde's busiest city. With a scowl and a grunt, I regretted my previous actions. This changed my plans. I needed to recalibrate my decisions, and change course for Kalimdor. I hurried out of my home after that, passing by the oval shaped mirror, that was cracked in multiple areas on its surface. I paused briefly and looked at the image in the mirror: dark hair, pale skin, and the yellow glow. Not much had changed. However, as I peered a little closer, I did notice a faint trace of rotten flesh on my lower jaw. I scowled briefly, and then hurried out of my house without much else thought. I needed to make the next zeppelin, before it left, or else my plans would be pushed back for another week or so.

Festerhoof was waiting patiently in the stables, as if the reanimated skeletal horse knew that I was coming for it. There was a somewhat thick and tattered, murky green blanket over my horse's back that served as a saddle. Festerhoof seemed pleased to be let out of the stables, and almost eager to be traveling again. I quickly saddled him, my actions fluid yet hurried. Time was against me, and I had to make the next zeppelin that I assumed would be leaving soon. It was after all a Tuesday morning. Every other Tuesday morning, a zeppelin from Orgrimmar and Stranglethorn Vale would arrive to pick up passengers to these two destinations. My plans were at the moment slapped together and made up as I went along, but I knew that once on the zeppelin and eventually in Orgrimmar, I would plot my plan of attack much more carefully.

Then we were riding out of Brill, where the stables were located, heading towards the zeppelin tower just south-east of the small town. I was pleased to see the zeppelin still there, but despite the distance, I could faintly make out figures boarding the floating ship. I ordered Festerhoof to gallop faster. The horse picked up speed, and soon enough we were inside the tower, racing up the stairs as safely and hurriedly as possible without trampling any other travelers. We barely made it. The zeppelin was about to leave as we approached the platform. I called out to the goblin demanding that he force the zeppelin to wait, and he halted the zeppelin from leaving just yet. I paid the charge, was given a ticket, and Festerhoof complied by trotting onto the zeppelin's upper deck.

The sigh of relief that escaped my throat as I boarded was the only sign of relief I would have that evening.

**ξ**

Orgrimmar was just as dusty, as dirty, and as filthy as I remembered. Of course, it was the most populated Horde city, with the most traffic day in and day out as a result. The zeppelin tower was inside the city now, one of the changes of the Horde's fresh, new, and diligent Warchief: Garrosh Hellscream. The entire city looked different now. Certainly more like the bastions of the Horde in Northrend: sharp, jagged, and intimidating, with an emphasis on the use of metal rather than clay and stone. It was perhaps even more crowded, making it even harder to wade through the crowds in the different valleys of the city. Festerhoof hated crowds. The undead horse put up a fight, disgruntled by the hordes of Orgrimmar's denizens.

There were goblins now in the Horde. The small, greedy green creatures and the usual orc vendors were selling their wares in the trade district of the city. It was a busy market area, and it was perhaps much busier due to the freshly arrived zeppelin from the Undercity. Just by walking through this area, one could hear grunts and the sounds of shuffling feet, as well as see the gleam of freshly shined metal armor in the early morning daylight. In the distance I heard auctioneers calling for bids in the nearby auction house. As for myself, however, I headed towards Orgrimmar's inn, in order to procure a room for my own planning. There was no time to waste in looking at the wares of Orgrimmar's vendors. There would be plenty of time for that later. I needed to compose my plan before the day was through, as well as obtain information on the paladin's whereabouts.

I left Festerhoof in the stables just outside the inn, and went inside in order to purchase my room for a week's stay. It would not take longer than that (though of course I hoped that my trip would end much sooner than a week). As I made my way through the red-rock and sand colored stone walls to my room, I could not help but feel like I had made almost a full circle. It was far from a perfect circle however. I even found the room in which we had stayed in together when we were still a couple. Shaking my head with disdain and a lack of interest, I kept walking. There was no point in thinking about that time in my un-life. We were different people now. Those kinds of memories would do more harm than good in remembering, perhaps.

My room was at the end of a hallway inside the inn, away from other occupied facilities, though I did not require such privacy. There are a plethora of ways to squish an annoying bug. But I knew that she would be a cockroach, a tireless maggot who would continue to feast upon my flesh for as long as she could out of spite, and would be difficult if not impossible to entirely kill. There would be hardly any mercy from her in the matters of defense, and there would be absolutely none in my case as well, though in offense. Devising a plan would not be difficult. There was no question about how ruthless I could be towards another living creature, like many others of my kind. Again, it was most likely due to the wavering humanity. Who needed a sense of humanity when the world did not return the favor and offer sympathy in return? What pleasure was there in this curse?

Of course, after my time spent with her, my target, I realized that too often I made myself a disabled or handicapped individual; as if I were broken in some aspects. Of course this was obviously true from the perspective of the living. I possessed my sanity, I possessed an ability to see and hear, and I possessed the ability to make my own decisions (whether or not they were wise or foolish), after we were released from the Scourge with the help of her majesty, the Dark Lady. From the perspective of a Forsaken, I was perhaps more superior due to these precious qualities. There was no need to boast about it however (for those I would be boasting to most likely could not see or hear me period), and there was no need to let it create an ego. I was proud of myself, but for different reasons (such as my work and craft), but at the same time felt shame for my previous actions. Regardless, it could not be helped either way. I only wished to redeem my honor, and move on with what truly mattered: my people.

Like most members of the Horde I was truly and whole-heartedly devoted first to my people. The Horde came second. Although it could be argued that the Horde is, as a whole, more cohesive and united than the Alliance. There are two reasons for this: one, the unity of the "old" Horde: the Orcs, the Trolls, and the Tauren. The Forsaken, the Sin'dorei, and the Goblins of Kezan were merely attachments to an already strictly united people. Of course, with recent struggles (I believe the Tauren chief Cairne Bloodhoof was recently slain in a duel) and the replacement of Thrall with Garrosh Hellscream, this unity has been tested. Perhaps this is where my argument about the Horde's central unity could be manipulated into saying that the Horde is split into two sides. Kalimdor's Horde and the Horde of the Eastern Kingdoms. But to add finally to this train of thought, the Forsaken and the Sin'dorei are only members with the Horde out of convenience as well as through an economic bond. The Forsaken will one day leave the Horde, with the Scourge eradicated, and will became its own empire or be eradicated with time (despite rumors about the Dark Lady conducting experiments with the Lich King's val'kyr). We were never meant to be amongst the living for long.

**ξ**

I wrongly assumed that devising a plan would be easy. It took intense concentration to extrapolate the perfect plan from my thoughts. It made me thoroughly frustrated, to the point in which I worried that I would give up entirely. However, despite this downside to my plans, I was actually able to locate her in the city on the second day of my ventures into Orgrimmar. Inspiration and opportunity struck me harder than a hammer to the head at this moment.

She was actually fishing in one of the small lakes inside of the city, near the newly built Tauren district, for lack of a better word of describing what this area could be considered. It astonished me that I would find her here. I presumed that she would have immediately returned to the Eastern Kingdoms after being unwillingly shipped to Orgrimmar by my hand. To this I assumed wrongly. She was garbed in simple linen clothes: blue overalls, a brown shirt, and a dusty hat. Her dyed red hair was still very short and framing her face. Her fishing pole was mediocre, hardly a pole that a true fisherman would use. It was more like a stick with fishing line (I could judge it as such, because I was a fishing enthusiast in what little spare time I had). She was sitting on a blanket, with what appeared to the remains of her lunch and several green bottles. Some appeared empty while others did not.

I did not make myself known to her, yet I did stay and watch her from quite afar. From the other side of the lake, towards the Tauren area, I sat against one of the large totem poles and simply just watched her. I studied her very carefully. Often she casted her line very clumsily, as if she were not really trying at all. She did manage to get a few tugs, but she did not seem too interested in reeling the fish in. Casually she took some drinks, frequently actually, to the point where I wondered what she was drinking in that moment. Eventually it appeared that fishing was beginning to bore her, and she quickly managed to clean up, however clumsily it truly was. It did not take long for me to realize that she was drunk, and heavily smashed to be more precise. What luck! Luck could not have been more opportune than it was at that very moment in time. I quickly recalibrated my plan, and chose to strike when she was crippled. There was no fear of disrupting my pride. It did not matter that I was hunting after a wounded animal; the animal was simply that, an animal, whether it was incapacitated or not. It did not matter if it was an easy fight or not. A fight was a fight, and I would take advantage of the opportunity since it presented itself before me.

It was almost laughable how much she stumbled. _Pathetic, _I stated often enough in my head as I removed myself from my hiding place, and actually chose to approach her. She did not even recognize me. I wore my usual garb, though I was not wearing any goggles on this day. My face was clear and would have been totally recognizable had she not been drunk out of her mind. She had been drinking alcohol and fishing. I could almost smell blood thistle in the air around her, and I would not have been surprised to know if she was also stoned. _No wonder she was so horrible at it, drunk and perhaps self-inoculated with drugs. Pathetic. Extremely pathetic._

She nearly fell onto me when I approached her, but thankfully she caught herself. Out of blurred bewilderment, she cried, "Oh! I am s-so, sho,..." she could not even finish her sentence; she was pulling words out of her head like a person pulled out rotten teeth. She stumbled over her words, and seemed too incoherent for conversation. Her eyes were wide, her pupils dilated, and her mouth was hanging somewhat lazily open. I grabbed her arm, and she did not resist my force. Her eyes simply moved back from my hand on her arm, to my face. I began to drag her to my room in the inn, casually telling bystanders who happened to ask about her condition that she was simply, "A little under the weather."

"Are you a ghosht?" She blurted out sporadically as we entered the inn. "You are not really there, are you?"

"What are you talking about?" I asked with a bereaved groan.

"You are a ghost. You must be. You are not there."

"I can assure you that I am physically present."

"Then if you are not a ghost, you are Death himshelf," she replied plainly as I pulled her into the hallways leading towards my room. She was still mumbling and stuttering, and I barely caught this comment.

"Death himself?" A sinister smirk formed on my face. "Yes, alright. I am Death."

She nodded quite readily and eagerly. She grinned dumbly, hiccupped, and brought her free hand up to her lips. "I shee a losht soul with you."

I exhaled dust, and I groaned afterwards. Her slurred voice was beginning to bother me. I decided to ignore her mumbles and random questions. She was describing creatures she saw floating around me. Apparently she saw a lost friend of hers. I did not push any of these comments or any of her questions regarding who she thought I was. So long as she chose to remain quiet, and mumble to herself, I would not cast a silencing charm on her. I did not need to cause a scene in the inn. Finally we reached my room. I unlocked my door and pushed her inside. Her mumbles began to become confused questions, as if she were still wandering about Orgrimmar lost and needing directions.

"But I need to go to the auction house! ...hic! And then the tavern!"

"You will do none of that! You are in my grip now. Be quiet, already." I refrained from raising my voice as best as I could, and I did my best not to look at her. Eventually, I found that I needed to silence her, for her questions were beginning to sound more frantic, and I did not want to be disturbed. I used a silencing charm on her with a quick incantation, and then called from the Netherworld my voidwalker to guard my door. Disruption would make me very displeased.

There was work to be done. My work needed to be accomplished. I could no longer wait around for her to leave my mind and my thoughts on her own accord. I needed to eradicate her.

There surely was work to be done.

I think she knew what was going on after she saw the cruel smirk sprawl across my face, for she trembled briefly and she happened to catch my gaze. I walked slowly towards her, sluggishly taking my time. She had escaped my grip as I casted the silencing charm on her, but she was backing up against one of the walls in the small room. There was hardly anywhere for her to run to. No one could hear her scream.

Everything I had thought of doing to her flashed through my mind. Of destroying the image that chose to cling to itself in my thoughts. I wanted to eradicate her, but part of me wanted to ruin her entirely. To see her suffer. Such sadistic thoughts pushed me forward. With a quick and smooth tug, I removed my gloves from my hands, and I reached out towards her as if I were beckoning for her to come to me. She did not seem to comprehend this entirely, but there was little that she could do. If any part of her mind had sobered, I would never know due to her inaudible voice. There was little that she could do. She extended her hand with a frightened tremble, and I grim glee consumed me as I snatched her hand into my own and jerked her forward tightly. My claw-like nails dug into her skin harshly, and she struggled weakly in my grasp.

"Are you beginning to sober?" I asked since she could still hear me. "Nod your head if you understand."

She nodded slowly as her eyes moved up and down my body.

"Do you know who I am?"

It took her a few moments to reply, almost as if she were trying to push away the fog in her mind, as if this heavy intoxication were palm fronds that could be moved out of obstruction in order to reveal a clearing. Eventually she nodded to this as well.

"Is that so? You do know who I am?"

She nodded again in confirmation, with the same amount of hurried apprehension.

"Good, very good." I pulled her away from the corner she backed herself into, and pushed her onto the small bed in my room, which she fell upon like a rag doll. "There is nowhere for you to run. My voidwalker is guarding the door. You are silenced. No one can hear you cry for help. Do you understand?"

She blinked, and lifted her head away from the bed sheets. She took her time in replying again, and her stunned expression bothered me. I narrowed my boney brows and stated coldly, "You should have known that this would happen soon enough. You should have known that you were tempting my wrath. You should have known what you were getting into. You have seen what destruction I can commit upon others. You cannot deny it."

I thought of removing her silencing hex and instead casting a silencing spell upon the entire room, in order to prevent anyone outside from hearing what was going on inside. I ended up choosing to leave the hex upon her, but hurriedly muttered the same spell upon the entire room. I could not take any unnecessary risks. Being discovered was out of the question. My work was important.

The elf chose to shake her head this time.

"Oh? You still choose to deny it? Are you really that foolish?" It was laughable. Pathetic. I did start to chuckle grimly. "You really must be in denial. Is that why you were drinking? Is that why you were intoxicated earlier? Actually, you still are intoxicated. I do not think you realize the gravity of your situation."

It was indeed true; her response time was off. It took her a few minutes to comprehend what I was saying. Her head was lolling backwards, and she rested it against the surface of the bed like an exhausted soldier. She shrugged.

"You will eventually understand the extent of what you have trapped yourself in. You brought this all upon yourself. Do not deny it. You cannot." She did not move, but I began to pace back and forth across the room. "You see, elf, you have been quite a thorn in my side. You always have been. Making me doubt myself, making my work suffer, making my mind confused. You thought I was someone else. You fail to realize who I am. You shrug because you half-heartedly believe a lie. How can you? What do you see? What is there to see? You are trying to move mountains. You cannot. You are walking into territory in which you were cast away from years ago."

Her mouth opened, but then shut as she realized that the action was useless. She simply shrugged again, and I found the action heavily disrespectful. "Are you mocking me!" I yelled at her, and I walked over to the side of the bed in order to grab her by the shirt's collar. She stiffened and became rigid, though I could see the signs of distress in her facial expression. "Answer me!"

She mouthed the word no. I grunted and pushed her away again. She caught herself and remained in a hunched over position on the bed. I refrained from saying anything to her, and instead chose to sit down at the wooden chair on the opposite side of the room. I leaned my head against my folded hands, and I watched her intently. After several moments of pregnant silence, I sat up fully and stated, "You know I will have to kill you right, Tess?"

I saw the shiver and tremble move down her spine. She was genuinely afraid. This notion made me ponder several things, as well as ask many questions. Fear? Had she not served in the Argent Crusade? Had she not traveled to Icecrown? Had she not fought in the citadel of ice? Had she not aided in destroying the Lich King? Was she truly a coward? If I had believed that her eyes were wide earlier, due to the drugs, they were much wider now by far. She was physically shaking, and I noticed that she could no longer look at me in the eye.

"Why are you so afraid? Are you really that much of a coward?"

It was like she did not hear me. She ignored me and her gaze remained fixed on the ceiling now. She was laying against the bed now, with her knees close to her chest. This thoroughly infuriated me. No one ignored me.

I stood up from my chair and walked back over slowly. In the small desk's drawer, there was a thin, sharply pointed dagger. I needed to make my point now. There was no more time to waste. I needed to eradicate this pest. No longer could I let it continue. She infuriated me. She would ruin me. _Kill her before she kills you. You know she would if she could. You are Forsaken. She is living. She is paladin. She would kill you if she could. She will kill you. Kill her now. Do it now. Now is the chance. She cannot scream. No one will save her. Her Light cannot protect her now._

I pulled out the dagger and quietly shut the drawer. I slowly found my way over to one of the actual sides of the bed that jutted out from the wall and served as the middle area to the room, where all of the other pieces of furniture were around it. I sat down on the bedside nearest to her head and looked down at her, since she refused to meet me eyelevel. I held the dagger up above her, ready to bring it down upon her body. _You need to do this. This is important. It is you or her. She would kill you if she could. She would crush your skull, exorcise your body, and happily watch you burn. The living are all the same. You have to destroy her. Do it now. Kill her before she kills you. She would do it if she could. Trust no one. You are Forsaken. You will slaughter anyone who stands in your way. She dares stand in your way. Do not let her win. Kill her before she kills you. She would do it to you if she could. She would happily watch you burn. Do it now._

Her eyes moved slowly from my own empty holes to the dagger in my hands. It did not take me long to notice that now she was crying.

A normal living being would be concerned with tears. Startled, perhaps. One would inquire about the cause of why another was shedding tears. But to the undead, the non-living, tears were something like a foreign memory. I had not seen a woman cry in years, since we had once been together if such a foreign memory served me true. Perhaps that was why I was suddenly perturbed by the sight. I narrowed my brows and I reached out with my free hand in order to grab her chin with my hand in order to force her eyes to remain at my eyelevel, away from the dagger. I lowered the blade down to her neck, pressing it firmly against her neck but not to the point where I was cutting her.

There was no reason for her to cry, unless she was a coward. _What, does she fear death? Does she fear what I have planned for her?_

_Good._ _It is as it should be, then_. _There is no need for any other emotion than fear_.

She was a coward then; a hopeless, pathetic coward. That was how the living all were. Crying was a sign of cowardice. Weakness. Even if the Forsaken could produce tears, you would still not see any crying. Thoughts raced through my head as I firmly gripped her and the dagger.

_The Forsaken are not weak. The Forsaken do not experience these sensations. These are sensations of the living: anxiety, fear, hopelessness, woe. They are not sensations of the strong. The Forsaken are strong. I am strong. I do not need those sensations. I am not living. I am not alive. I do not need it. There is no reason for them. I am strong. I do not need to experience such things. The Forsaken are not weak. The Scourge were never weak, even if mindless. I have my mind. I have my strength. I am not weak. I am not mindless. I am strong. I must be strong. I have to be. I cannot be weak. Weakness is a pitfall. I do not desire anything other than vengeance for my people. My people. They are what matter. They would protect their own kin against the Forsaken. We must do the same. I am not weak. I cannot be. Nothing can distract me. Kill her before she kills you._

Moments passed as I stared down at her and she looked upon at me with horror in her eyes. I pressed the blade even further and snarled down at her. _I want to defile her. Destroy her. Demand that she do it herself. It is almost degrading to have to kill her. She should do it to herself. She is the one who has committed shameful acts. She is the one who threw herself at me. She is the traitor. Not me. Ruin her before she ruins you. Ruin her. Exterminate her._

My fingers were pressing so sharply against her chin that her lower jaw was beginning to bleed. She was crying more fluidly now, and she mouthed something to me ever so slightly.

_Do what you must_, she mouthed.

_There is no better glory than a clean kill. Slice her throat now. Watch as the blood slides down her throat, to her collarbone. Watch her blood stain the sheets. Watch it with pleasure. The pleasures of the violent are the only pleasures of the Forsaken. You honor your people by doing this. It is what is right. No longer can the living distract you from your goals. Goals of the Forsaken. The plague canisters. The Royal Apothecary Society. You need them and they need you. You are strong. They will make you stronger. Do it now. Death to the living. Glory to the Forsaken. Slaughter anyone who stands in your way. It is the only way. She blocks your path. You did not choose this path. This path chose you. When you were raised from the ground, you were immediately different. You are not alive, yet you stand as a reanimated bag of flesh. You are Forsaken. You must stand with your people. The strengths must stand strong against the wrongs. You are what you are. You cannot deny it. Do it now. Kill her before she kills you. She will enjoy it; and you will enjoy her death just as equally. You cannot refrain from it. You want her dead. You always have. It was only a matter of time −−_

_ A yearning so strong. A distraction. Escape from reality._

_ ... Her lips are plump and ripe, and her eyes close again as my own lips enclose around hers. _

_ She shudders._

_ I smile into our kiss. _

_ I am enveloped in her arms._

_ Craving her scent and smell._

_ Safe here. Where she is. _

_ Do what you must, Theodore_.


End file.
